


I'll Meet You There

by OneLastBreath_Writes (M3gan15xo)



Category: We Can Be Heroes (2020)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Brainwashing, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update tags as I go, I'm playing fast and loose with a lot of things but hey, If I need to tag anything else please let me know, Kidnapping, Reader is Marcus Moreno's wife, Reader is Missy Moreno's mother, Reader is a medical doctor, Survivors Guilt, Swearing, also posted on Tumblr, ch2 described panic attack/PTSD episode, couple of warnings for chapter 1:, is it slow burn if you're already married?, it'll be okay eventually. i promise, its a universe with supers and aliens, like poor marcus i just keep making everything worse, marcus moreno is a good dad, marcus moreno is just doing his best but I keep hurting him, mentions of child death, mentions of spouse death, mild fight scene violence, minor medical conversations, really vague references to suicide/suicidal thoughts, so i'll do what I like ;), thank the stars for kids who just want their parents to be happy again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3gan15xo/pseuds/OneLastBreath_Writes
Summary: What if Marcus’s wife didn’t actually die? What if she and a few others were kidnapped during an attack on Heroics’ HQ, and then held captive for years without realizing? If the only thing you “remember” from your past is that your husband and daughter were killed, well, you surely wouldn’t want to go back to the people who you believe did it. But maybe, with the help of a tenacious child and some re-awakening parental instincts, you’ll be able to break through the brainwashing and forced amnesia, and find your way home.
Relationships: Marcus Moreno/Original Female Character(s), Marcus Moreno/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Clouding Over

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Right Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656405) by [Alliterative_Albatross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliterative_Albatross/pseuds/Alliterative_Albatross). 



> Yo! First reader fic and first WCBH fic, please be gentle. I got the prompt idea of wife!reader from @Alliterative_Albatross(AO3)/disgruntledspacedad.tumblr.com, so please also check out her stuff because she's amazing. I have a writing blog now (OneLastBreath-Writes.tumblr.com) so you can follow that if you'd like. Hope you enjoy xoxo

“You’ve been in a terrible accident, Doctor, and I regret to inform you of your husband’s and daughter’s passing. Our rescue and recovery efforts after the incident were unfortunately unsuccessful, and you have our deepest sympathies.” 

It took months for those words to even sink into you; months before you even remembered anything about who you were... the accident, or the attack, as it was more commonly known by you and the other victims, took your entire life away in an instant. You survived, physically, but at the cost of your partner? Your child? All the memories of your life together? How could you be worth it? 

“Your transcripts and accomplishments are phenomenal, Doctor, and I’m in need of talented and capable individuals such as yourself to help right the wrongs, and demand justice, from those who have committed such heinous acts against us. The Heroics are murderers, destroyers of peace, and they have gotten away with their crimes for far too long. They’ve been praised and applauded and worshipped as gods while all they truly are, are terrorists. How many more innocent lives can we allow to be lost to their carelessness? ‘For the greater good’ is quite the insult when the people saying such things aren’t the ones losing their families to the chaos, wouldn’t you agree? Join me, Doctor, and we can make a difference.” 

It was easy decision for you, even in the early days of your recovery. From the distant and foggy memories of your past, your anguish in what you could recall, you knew that if you could stop someone else from having to feel the loss and pain that comes from losing their spouse and children, you would do so in a heartbeat. 

Your husband had been an incredible man, your Everything, you would image, going by the ache in your heart when you thought of being without him. His name, his appearance; that was all lost to you when you lost him. His existence in what could healed of your memories was just a shadow, a shade, the vague impression of the man you loved. You remembered his warmth, his kindness and gentleness, his love and devotion to you and the child you created together. 

And your beautiful baby girl... if thoughts of your husband left your heart aching, then thoughts of your daughter left you in unparalleled agony, completely inconsolable. You tried to avoid thinking of her, if you were being honest, tried to leave all what-ifs and could’ve/should’ve/would‘ve’s behind... you had worked with people, mothers, who had lost children before, had seen them tear themselves apart in their grief, taking the blame for something that was in no way their fault; you had seen them destroy their lives with their hoarded guilt and perceived crimes... you couldn’t allow yourself to fall for that, those falsehoods, you had to be alive if you wanted to honour your child and husband’s sacrifice. 

“We will make them pay for what they’ve done to us, Doctor, I promise you that. Together, we can get justice for your husband, for your little Missy.” 

\---

Marcus knew something was wrong as soon as his commlink started transmitting static instead of his teammates’ conversations. The Heroics had been deployed to stop a hoard of rogue security androids that were infected by a virus or something (he couldn’t usually follow the technobabble), which had led them to escape their testing facility and target nearby civilians with their advanced weapons technology. 

Evacuating the citizens trapped in the line of fire was the team’s first objective, and once the area was cleared of potential victims, they moved onto the containment and neutralization of the enemy combatants. The Heroics team was decently cohesive; they could work together to ensure the protection of innocent lives while in a firefight, but once the civilians were in the clear and the stakes not so high, the supersized egos of the members emerged with a fiery passion. This particular firefight was no different. 

“Hey ‘Legend, bet you a week of incident reports that my count is higher!” Miracle Guy’s voice broke out over the ‘link, as eager to show-boat as ever, from where he was steadily piling up his deactivated attackers. 

“I’ll take that action, Miracle, easy. It’ll be like taking candy from a baby!” Crimson Legend wasn’t the type of person who could ignore a bet, especially one issued from Miracle. “You’re probably so behind already that you don’t even stand a chance, ha!” 

Of course, they just had to make it a game, keep the superiority contest going; like a single mistake couldn’t cost them a life or a limb. And just to further prove how amazingly mature the rest of Marcus’s team of Adult Superheroes were, they all started in on the bet too. 

“If I beat your totals, I want a week off from training!” 

“Ha! Like any of you have a chance of winning against me! I want my on-call weekend, off” 

“If I win, you’re all my personal slaves for the rest of the day!” 

Did Marcus say Adult Superheroes? He meant infants. 

And they had started the mission so well, communicating and strategizing, actual teamwork instead of bickering and joking around like children. Hell, even their children didn’t get into as much trouble as their parents could. 

“Guys, it’s really not the best time to be playing around. We need to focus on-” He was cut off by the loud static burst of an out-of-range radio. Shit. That’s not good. If his comms unit was fried, he couldn’t direct his teammates, couldn’t keep track of them, couldn’t help them. 

They were pretty spread out by now, giving everyone room to use their powers without worrying about another Heroic getting caught in the blast zone. He knew from their most recent locational sound off that Crushing Low and Invisi Girl were working together near the intersection two streets over from him, and if he could make his way over to them, he could figure out what was going on. 

Marcus needed to know if it was just his commlink that was out of commission, or if their entire network had gone down. The former scenario was a minor inconvenience, the latter was a major issue. Either he’d have to lead his team by correspondence, or he’d have to worry about them being completely alone in the field, without support from HQ, and without any chance of backup or rescue. 

He couldn’t worry about the details now, he had to keep focused on finishing off the seemingly endless wave of androids. Androids with guns. Androids with guns that he was trying to kill with a pair of katanas... Maybe he hadn’t thought his primary weapon for this mission out very well... It was just something that he’d have to come back to later. For now: sword, robot, teammates. 

\--- 

They didn’t pay him enough for this. He should have gone into acting like he had planned before his powers manifested. This sort of shit didn’t happen to actors. 

Marcus had destroyed all the androids delaying him from reaching his nearest teammates and was finally able to move to their location with relative ease and only minor distraction. He could see Crushing Low laying waste to the few remaining functional robots in the area, and could assume that Invisi Girl was around somewhere, disabling any downed but not dead enemies while protecting ‘Low’s back. 

He was proven right when he heard a feminine voice call for him to “hit the deck, Moreno!”. 

“Thanks Vis! You two doing alright? What’s your comms sitch?” He stood back up straight, just missing being nailed in the head by a flying metal limb had it not been for her heads-up. 

“We’re a-okay! Comms are out though. No known damage to them, no knocks or surges, might be the tech, or it might be the channel. We’ll have to see what Tech-No thinks.” She was still invisible, but Marcus could imagine her animated expressions and movements. She was one of the most... normal... of the Heroics, if normal could ever be used to describe any of the team. Reliable and observant, with a good sense of battle strategy. He greatly appreciated her skills and efficiency in the field; she and Tech-No being the most down-to-earth of the Heroics, most willing to help him keep the peace between the rest of them. 

“I’ll watch Low’s back if you can go find Tech. We need to know what’s going on, ASAP. If all the comms are down, and Tech can’t get them back up, I need you to find everyone and tell them to meet back at the robotics facility. Get Miracle and Fast to help if you can. If anyone’s injured, they’re your first priority, okay? Thanks, Vis.” 

\--- 

Getting every member of the Heroics team back together took nearly an hour, all coming fresh from the fight but thankfully not too banged up or bruised. They set up a perimeter once enough of the team had arrived to their meeting spot, allowing Tech-No to deep-dive into investigating their communications malfunction. 

“It’s the network, not our comms. We’re dealing with a drop either from HQ’s side, or a forced drop here from RFI. But considering the standard distance and all the buildings and stuff around us, a radio frequency jammer wouldn’t be able to block our communications network as far out as we were. We must assume that the problem comes from HQ. which presents further concerns, obviously. I designed most of the technology there myself, so I know exactly how much work it would be to take down the whole system. We need to consider this as part of a bigger plot, and plan accordingly.” Tech-No’s eventual explanation hang heavy in the air, no one willing to break the silence following it... If something had happened to HQ… Their co-workers were there, their friends, their children… 

Marcus thought of his daughter and wife. They were both there today. His wife worked in the medical centre, and they brought their daughter there for daycare. If something happened there... shit. If he was panicking about his family already, his teammates were doing the same. He had to head this off. He couldn’t let this get out of control. He took a breath and squared his shoulders. It was time to be Marcus Moreno the leader of the Heroics, not Marcus the husband and father. Lead by example, they’re all counting on you. 

“We have no proof that anything is actually wrong, and until we know for sure why we can’t reach them, we need to do our jobs. Finish the mission. We’ve always trusted our people to hold down the fort at home so we can help people out here, and they’ve never let us down before. We are not going to doubt them now, understood? Whatever’s happened? We know HQ is doing their best to keep our loved ones safe. So, we finish up here, quickly and thoroughly, and then we head back to base. Let’s get moving,” He met his teammates’ eyes, allowed them to witness his own fears, but also his stubborn determination. He wasn’t asking them to ignore or dismiss their worries, but rather, put it into finishing the mission so they could go home sooner. 

No one fought him; thankfully just picked their tasks and headed out. 

“Tech, we need transport. Now. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done, alright?” Marcus refused to acknowledge the slight tremble in his voice, tried to breathe around the lump in his throat and the dread sinking in his stomach. He desperately stopped himself from thinking about coincidences and probabilities. This was all a fluke, a random string of events that didn’t mean anything more was going on. They’d be able to laugh about it when they got home and saw everything was just as they’d left it. He had to believe that. He didn’t have any other choice. 

—- 

Transport home turned out to be a military helicopter big enough to fit the whole team, in addition to the fully outfitted squad of soldiers already inside. 

“According to the press release your director gave, there was small but powerful group of gifted individuals who invaded Heroics’ Headquarters, intending to either kidnap or kill certain “important personnel” within the building. Didn’t specify much more than that, other than that your organization would be dedicating as much manpower as they could to bring “those who would cause such destruction and terror” to justice. The address was filmed in the parking lot, but there were a lot of emergency responders and vehicle in the background. I’m sorry we can’t tell you anything more, but well, we were scrambled to your location ASAP, barely had time for the news we got...” The staff sergeant sitting across from Marcus briefed the team about what the intel they had on the HQ attack. And that was what it was. An attack. The thing they all feared most. 

“Thank you for the information, and for the ride back home; we lost communication in the middle of a battle, with no clue as to why. Now, at least, we have an idea of what we should expect when we arrive.” The mention of “important personnel” jump-started Marcus’s heart into overdrive. That was the code phrase they used when describing their most vulnerable people to the public, non-combatants and injured persons usually; a smokescreen meant to dissuade targeted attacks, and shift attention away from those who couldn’t protect themselves in the case of an emergency. It was also the code that frequently represented their children. 

The families of the Heroics were classified as high-risk targets; villains and enemies of their organization didn’t often have the moral decency to leave their loved ones out of the fight. So, to afford as much anonymity and protection possible, any time the team had to reference their partners and children in physical records and documentation, it was under that code phrase. 

This attack was centred on their kids. 

What kind of monster do you have to be to go after a bunch of kindergarten and primary school children? 

Fuck. 

The only good news was that there was no mention of the attack being a success. 

So, all the Heroics knew for certain was that a group of villains had tried to get to their children, and while obviously causing significant damage to HQ, they had been stopped. Were unsuccessful. The Home Team had saved the day again. 

Marcus thanked every deity he could think of for keeping his and his friends’ kids safe. 

The rest of the flight home was quiet. Him and teammates finally able to get some rest after all the fighting and panic, and the soldiers conversing just loud enough to be heard over the headsets and hum of the chopper’s motors. 

He was pulled back from the edge of unconsciousness he had been drifting along for a while when the pilot gave them their five-minute ETA. 

They were home at long last, and everything was going to be just fine.


	2. Lost in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and co. arrive back to HQ, but nothing is how they left it. Things get worse, and they're not going to get better for a while. Oops <3  
> Trigger warnings for a described panic attack/PTSD episode. Please take care of yourself, and skip to "There was suddenly less roaring..." if you'd like to avoid it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears, welcome to chapter 2. I finally wrestled myself still long enough to write this next bit, so I hope you enjoy! We're on the train to SadBoiVille with Marcus today, so make sure to stand clear of the doors and have your tickets ready. A huge thank you to all the amazing people who left kudos, bookmarked, and wrote comments on chapter 1. I am so honoured and grateful for your support <3 I hope you enjoy, and I'd be overjoyed to hear from you if you like it. All the best, xoxo

The Heroics disembarked from their military transport into a crowd of HQ personnel; equipment maintenance staff relieving them of their gear, various upper managements looking to debrief them after their mission, a couple of interns running around with water bottles and protein bars, and some haggard looking medical support staff trying to herd everyone back towards the hastily constructed emergency-operations camp. 

There were so many people trying to get Marcus’s attention. 

_Please..._

There were hands removing his weapons’ holsters, touching his back and sides and wrists. 

_Stop..._

Someone was pressing a cold plastic bottle into his unresponsive fingers. 

_I can’t..._

Multiple voices were shouting over the already very loud, still spinning blades of the helicopter, calling his name and asking him questions he couldn’t hear over the roaring in his own ears. 

_Wait...!_

It was all so much, so quickly. All the calm he had managed to capture on the flight back was shattered, leaving only noise and chaos to fill the space. 

_Something’s wrong..._

He rarely had panic attacks anymore when coming home from the field. There was a system, a procedure for recovery and acclimatization that was religiously followed as to not trigger his PTSD and anxiety. 

_Something is wrong. Really wrong._

_Too Loud..._

None of the people surrounding him were part of his support team. 

_Too bright._

He couldn’t _recognize_ anyone. 

_Hands._

He couldn’t _trust_ anyone. 

_Too much. Too much. Too much._

His breathing sped up and his vision narrowed. 

He was in _danger._ He had to _get away. Now._

He couldn’t tell if he was screaming, or if he was crying, or if he was even conscious right now. He didn’t know what his body was doing while his mind started seeing everything as a threat. 

“---gone now Mar--- Everythi---- okay n--- -issy’s saf- Take a de-- --eathe. In and out. You’re -afe here...” 

There was suddenly less roaring. No hands. No crowd caging him in. Air in his aching lungs like he had forgotten how to breathe. There was someone, and only one, standing in front of him a few steps away. They had their hands resting at their sides, posture relaxed and non-threatening, speaking softly and using words he could hear and understand. 

He recognized this person. 

They were safe. _He_ was safe. 

“...We are outside HQ, you just got back from a mission in Virginia, your daughter is safe, it’s currently about 5:15pm on a Tuesday evening, you are safe, you are doing a good job with your breathing, Missy is alright, HQ was-” 

Marcus cut off the carefully plain rambling of the medic. His daughter’s name catching his attention. 

“Missy...? Where...?” Where was she? He needed to see her, make sure she was safe, uninjured. 

“Missy is safe and with the other children. They have been taken care of and are being guarded by the security officers. I can take you to her now if you are ready to move.” The young medic, Patch, as he could now remember, kept their distance from him, giving him the space to settle and decompress. The distance also allowed Marcus to examine the support staff in front of him. 

They were a mess. More than a bit banged up, with some bandages covering their forearms and hands, a stance that screamed an injury to their left leg that they were trying to ignore, and tear tracks that cut through the grime and dust on their face. 

“Patch? What happened here, kid?” The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, his instincts still making his weary. Even outside of his initial panic attack, there was something wrong here. 

“Can I take you to Missy now, Mr. Moreno? If you’re ready? Please?” Patch looked ready to cry, again apparently, clearly distressed over Marcus’s question. 

He agreed, not wanting to upset them further. First things first: Missy. And so, he commanded his tired, heavy feet to follow the medic over to the large tents set in a messy cluster. 

“We have all the non-critically injured, all the medical crew, and all the kids in the centre tent. You can get checked over properly there, but from my observations I would say you received no substantial damage on your mission, health wise. If there’s something I’ve missed when I brief your doctor, please let one of us know. We currently are making use of the emergency field kits we were able to salvage, but we should be capable of handling anything non-life threatening if so needed.” Shoulders squared, head held high, ‘emotions only after the mission’; the medical team was trained to perfection to keep it together under the pressures they had to face daily, and Patch, despite being one of the youngest in the department, was no exception. 

“Field kits? Even if the building took some damage, the med bay is accessible still, right? It’s almost as fortified as the bunker, and nearly indestructible when locked down, as per procedure...” Marcus knew he was grilling the kid, and didn’t want to accuse them of anything, but Patch was thoroughly briefed in HQ emergency protocols, just like all the medical staff. His wife and the other department heads made sure to run evacuation and lockdown drills regularly with all the personnel stationed in their wing. So why then, if everything was done correctly during the attack, was the Bay inaccessible? Was there damage to the surrounding structures? Possible, but there were plenty of pathways to and from the Bay for safety and efficiency. Perhaps there was some sort of hazardous materials situation either near or in the Bay? Feasible but incredibly unlikely. They had one of the most advanced medical science centres in the world, overly prepared for any such incidences; a full lockdown would have contained and neutralized anything harmful found in the compromised areas. A bioweapons attack would have been dealt with swiftly, and the Bay would still be up and running. 

“The med bay wasn’t locked down! We were ordered to evacuate during the attack, and not long after that, the was an explosion that caused severe damage to both the Bay and the entire north side of the facility. Now, we’re just doing the best we can with what, and who, we have, sir.” Patch was single-mindedly focused on leading his pseudo-boss to the heavily guarded tent containing his daughter, struggling with their composure and the weight of the truth; knowing that if Marcus was left alone with them for too long, he would start asking questions they couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to answer. Arriving at the central tent was their saving grace from whatever the leader of the Heroics was going to ask next. “This way, Mr. Moreno, she’s in here.” 

Patch had pulled back the tent flap, and held it open for him to step through. 

\--- 

It was like a miniature clinic inside. A few beds and chairs scattered around, some tarps and sheets hung from the ceiling for private areas, tables with the contents of the salvaged field kits organized and distributed as needed. Marcus thought it was an impressive set up for the few hours they’d had to construct it. 

And there, near the middle of the space, was a pile of sleeping children all huddled up together. Shock blankets and all the jackets and clean linens the staff could spare were donated to the kids as pillows, blankies, and all the warmth and comfort possible. 

He thought they looked like a pile of puppies, soft and sweet and safe, like all their lives (short, barely even lived lives) weren’t just in jeopardy. 

But there they were. 

Safe. 

The rest of his team was scattered around the tent, some still going through their health examinations, some talking to the security officers, and the rest stationed around the children, the makeshift nest, bleary eyed but vigilant in their watch. 

Patch motioned for him to follow them around the active workspace, and finally over to his daughter. 

“Not a scratch or scrape on any of the younglings, sir, they’re just sleeping off the adrenaline. It, um, might be best to leave them be for now. There’s still a lot to be done I’m afraid, no need to drag her around for it. I’ll lead you to your checkup once you’re ready.” 

His little Missy was curled up towards the outside of the group; the kids seemingly sandwiching their youngest friends in the middle of the pile. They were already learning teamwork, and he couldn’t have been prouder of his baby girl. 

Marcus carefully kneeled beside her, examining her face and visible limbs for any damage, needing to see with his own eyes that she was safe and whole. He brushed her hair away from her closed eyes and caressed her adorably chubby cheeks. Warm and soft, and just as perfect as the day she was born. 

Not wanting to risk disturbing her, he gave Missy one last look over and stood back up. 

Patch was waiting for him outside the Nest, having grabbed a clipboard from somewhere, and was filling out the paperwork his attending physician would need during his exam. 

“Please come with me, you’ll be with Defib, uh, Dr. Demirovic ́.” They lead him to one of the curtained off areas and directed him to sit down on the chair inside. 

“Vitals first, then the doctor will be in to do the full song and dance. Do you have any concerns before we begin, Mr. Moreno?” He declined, and they wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm after they finished prodding around the area it would sit. As the cuff was inflating Patch slipped a thermometer under his tongue and an oximeter on his finger. 

“Your BP and heart rate are a bit high still, but within reasonable deviations after, um, everything, please try to eat and drink something soon, and sleep too if you can.” They recorded his numbers in his file and removed all the devices from his person. “Please wait here for Dr. Demirovic, she should only be a minute.” Patch finished cleaning up their equipment and gave him a nod and a weak heartbreakingly sad smile before slipping out of the small makeshift room. 

This was his first moment of being truly alone since the mission began. Marcus tried to breathe, to relax in the near silence. He closed his eyes and focused on the missing puzzle piece of this place. Something was wrong and no one was talking about it. Everyone had been very careful about looking at him, and Patch was increasingly stressed the longer they were around him. He was terrified about putting his thoughts into proper order. Terrified to confront what he was trying so hard to dismiss as his own paranoia and post battle haze. He wanted to keep living in the suspended little world he currently existed in, because at least here, he could dream, could forget. 

No one was talking about his wife. The mother of his child. The head doctor of the medical department and his go-to physician. 

She didn’t bring him out of his panic attack, she didn’t lead him to their daughter, she didn’t take his vitals, and she wouldn’t be conducting his medical exam. 

There was something seriously wrong here, and no one was telling him anything. 

Where was his wife?

_Why isn’t she here?_

_She’s always the first one here._

Now was not the time to start spiralling. He needed to find out where she was, if she was injured or sent to help with the critical patients that were transferred to a proper hospital after they were evacuated. His wife was capable and skilled and wouldn’t leave her family for anything. She was alright and he was going to make someone tell him where she was. That she was safe, and healthy, and that she would come home to him. They promised that they’d always come home to the other, that nothing on this earth would keep them apart, and that no matter what or who stood in their way, that they would fight, they would never give up or in, until their very last breath, to be reunited. 

So, his wife was out there. She had to be. 

“Marcus... it's good to see you again. Even if the circumstances are not as pleasant as one might hope.” Dr. Demirovic, or callsign: Defib, was primarily a cardiologist and critical care medical expert, one of the best in her field, and was the previous department head at HQ before announcing her semi-retirement and the promotion of Marcus’s wife, Dr. Demirovic’s protégé, as the new Head. 

“Doctor,” he greeted her, noticing how her smile lines and crows’ feet looked a little deeper than usual today, appearing to not be formed from her years of laughing and happiness, but from tragedy and sorrow soul deep, “it’s good to see you too.” 

She patted his shoulder as she passed his chair, setting her ‘kit down on the small table shoved into the back of the room. ‘Defib’ had been his wife’s mentor during her residency at HQ, and she had quickly taken to regard the older doctor as part of her family. After they had gotten married, Marcus gained another terrifying maternal figure, and his own mother, the previous leader of the Heroics and the scariest woman ever, Anita, had gained an accomplice in teasing the young couple. 

“We’ll do the standard run-through, and you’ll tell me if anything starts hurting, yes?” 

It was a quiet affair after their brief conversation. She’d tell him to breathe deeply or cough as she listened to his lungs, to move or tilt a certain way, and to stop squirming when she had to examine his torso and spine for internal damage and bruising. 

“Aside from the dehydration and exhaustion, nothing seems pressing health wise, but if anything, and I mean anything Marcus, changes, you are to report directly back to one of the medics for reassessment. It’s not the time for heroics, if you’ll excuse the pun. If I hear of any stunts, from you or your team, I will place the whole lot of you on mandatory medical leave, indefinitely.” She eyed him sternly, used to the Heroics’ antics. She would accept no other losses today, not from bravery or stupidity; she didn’t think she could handle it. 

“Thank you, Doctor, I’ll be sure to let them know.” Marcus replied sagely, standing and offering his hand to the woman to shake. Despite her age and her small stature, when she enveloped him in a tight hug, he was sure he heard his ribs creak from her strength. She released him just as quickly and ushered him out of the small space, patting his shoulder again with a gentle hand. 

“I’m here for you, Marcus, if you need anything. Please remember that. You aren’t alone.” 

_Alone?_

“Mr. Moreno, we need to talk.” 

—- 

“Through the brave actions and quick decisions of a few individuals, the greatest tragedy we could face was avoided that day. Because of their sacrifice, we suffered only minor casualties, and our most vulnerable were protected and remain unscathed. As the Director of the Heroics Organization, I offer my heartfelt gratitude, and deepest sympathies to the families and friends of those lost in the attack. We will honour our fallen and remember them as true heroes. And to the perpetrators of this such cruelty, if you are watching, know that we will find you, and we will bring you to justice. No further comments; thank you for your time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onelastbreath-writes.tumblr.com


	3. Flooding The Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Marcus just, uh, suffering. Oops. Also s/o to you for being a sassy badass. It's just what you deserve (and that'll be everyone else's problem, dw ;).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back and having an absolute feral time of it. Things are everywhere, I write like a monster, and we're all going to have to deal with it together. We finally are making timeline progress, thank the gods, and I hope it all like flows nicely enough. As far as my brain is concerned, I've already written the whole story, and thus should not have to write it out in a way that makes sense for someone who is not living in my head,,, we're struggling but here we are anyways! Thanks for the lovely comments, all those who have left kudos, those who have bookmarked this fic, and all the people who just read through it and move on! I adore you all, and I greatly appreciate your support <3 Hope you enjoy chap3!   
> All the best, xoxo   
> PS I am a full clown who just discovered the RichText editor options -.- I was getting real tired of the HTML coding for italics of which I am a full criminal for using so much... Send tweet XD

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his _fans_ , didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was _gone_ gone. 

Dead. 

She wasn’t dead.

No way in _Hell_. 

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was _prepared_ for this. _“In the event of my death...,_ " like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen. 

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong. 

_“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”_

_Low air evac..._ she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. _Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever._

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams. 

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, _the brain that never sleeps,_ how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) _Doctor Batman_ , which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. _Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!_

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “ _scary_ ”, and “ _our kids would be_ too powerful, _Marcus. Promise me!_ ”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “ _absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!_ ” 

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

_“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”_

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “ _Eventually,_ ” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “ _I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so_ keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again. 

\---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise. 

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too. 

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“ _If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us_.” 

\---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all. 

_Suspicious._

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release. 

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the _highly trained professionals_ didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up. 

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

_Typical._

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself. 

_“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all..._

_Hey babe..._

_Always doubt a body, but always doubt_ no _body, more.”_

\---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping. 

\---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had _recovered enough._ You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember _nothing_. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only _of_ them instead of _actually knowing_ them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent. 

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be. 

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: _what were they waiting for?_

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: _paid_ the people who actually saved your life) gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of _thing_ for you. _Gross_.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while. 

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem. 

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig ( _“Please, just Greg is fine”_ ), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless _they_ were on something, or _you_ were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke. 

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!” 

_Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait._

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onelastbreath-writes.tumblr.com -drop me a line and I'll give you a secret about one of the characters that I hoard like the dragon I am ;)


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